


a nightmare dressed like a daydream

by peppermintz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintz/pseuds/peppermintz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various Twissy drabbles and ficlets I've decided to transfer to here from my Tumblr; all of various ratings, but mostly within the T to M area. °˖ ✧◝(ᅌᴗᅌ✿ )◜✧˖ °</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “I never hated you, but I never liked you, either. I liked to torture you, play with you, because you’ve always been my favorite plaything, but now I feel like I might love you.” TWISSY PLS

It’s so quiet in the room that he can only hear the beat of both their hearts and it’s deafening. One of the advantages of a bypass-respiratory system is that they don’t pant for breath after every kiss. 

It irks him because he can’t breathe very well around her, anyway. His body betrays him when he’s in her presence. 

In more ways than one. He wishes he could find some humour in that. 

His lips are on her neck. They’re soft whereas she was rough on his own skin. He hears her hearts beat louder and her fingers are in his hair. 

"I’ve missed this for so many years," she breathes out. "So did you."

"I don’t think I ever thought about it," he mutters. He sucks lightly over a spot on her neck that makes her let out a deep sigh. 

"Liar. You’ve missed me. Some place in your mind, some tiny spot you couldn’t reach, I was always there. I lingered. I never went away." 

"Your ego’s gotten even bigger."  _Liar,_ he silently repeats her.  _You’re a liar, lies, LIES —_ "There’s a reason why you clamber for my attention every time." His fingers undo her blouse buttons one by one. 

"You’re  _drawn_ to it, love. You’re my moth and I’m your flame.” She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and he drops it to the floor with her blouse. “Always have been. Remember when we were children and ran across Gallifrey’s fields…” _  
_

"I don’t think about that anymore, either."  _L i a r ._ He kisses her collarbone, works downwards. 

"You’re weak. You don’t want to feel as guilty for something that wasn’t even your fault, hm?" She gives the smallest moan when he nips just above her breast. "All those times we had, my dear Doctor, you don’t want to remember how we felt?" 

"We didn’t feel. We weren’t supposed to. If we tried, they’d break us." She arches slightly so he can unhook the clasp of her bra. 

"But what after that? Everyone knew you had a malfunction. And I did, too, but I got lucky. They liked me more."

"They didn’t like you. They just thought you weren’t useless." Her small fingers tangle in his hair again and she bites back another, louder moan when he works his tongue over her deeply sensitive, pink skin. 

"I was always a better telepath and you couldn’t compete, poor baby."

He bites her for the remark and makes her gasp. He smirks and licks the mark to sooth it. 

"I malfunctioned too much I’ll have to say," she tells him breathlessly. His hand slips down and he pulls her skirt off. "I never hated you, but I never liked you."

He hums quietly in response and pushes her knickers aside, drawing his mouth away from her breast. His fingertips slide across her and she exhales harshly. “I liked to torture you, play with you, because you’ve always been my favorite plaything.”

"Glad the feeling’s mutual." He presses a finger to the source of her nerves and she arches into his touch, releasing a soft cry. 

"But…" She grips his wrist, guiding his fingers downwards. He slides two into her and she tosses her head back against her pillows. She manages out in a whimper, "Now I — I feel like I might love you."

He tuts and doesn’t respond for a moment — he focuses on the sounds she’s making. The sensations of her, like slick, wet, hot silk. 

"Still mutual, isn’t it?" he murmurs, and he shifts so he can lean down to press his lips above where she wraps his fingers in silk. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twissy & “You look cute tied to the bed like this, helpless and at my mercy~….”

"I want to hate you," the Doctor says, feeling both disgusted and enthralled. It disgusts him even more that he  _is_ enthralled. 

"Want to? Oh, goodness me, why haven’t you started already?" Missy looks close to bursting into giggles and he wants to roll his eyes so hard they fall back into his skull. " _I’d_  hate  _you_  if this was the other way ‘round. But we couldn’t have that, could we?”

She traces her fingernail along his jawline and he’s a little worried she’s going to cut through his skin. “I’m your  _Mistress._ ”

He does roll his eyes this time. “Yes, I know. I think we’ve exhausted that fact.”

"But I do love to hear it."

"Believe me, Koschei, I know."

She scowls and flicks him in the nose. He sniffs in annoyance. “That’s not my name anymore.”

"Whatever you say, of course," he says dryly.

Her eyes light up. “Isn’t that the point of this, darling? My God, you look cute tied to the bed like this, helpless and at my mercy.”

"I’m flattered."

"Oh, get excited over something other than life-or-death situations, Doctor. You’re boring." Missy pouts at him, drawing an invisible line down his chest. "Surely you’ve thought about doing this to me before?"

"Tying you up?" The Doctor blinks. "I really just considered something like a bit of touching, quite a lot of kissing with teeth. Maybe intercourse if we got lucky. Nothing so, er," he nips his lip as he searches for the right word, "… fucked-up."

Missy laughs, her fingers tripping themselves down his stomach and over the front of his pants. He bites his lip harder. “Ooh, no, no, no, love. This does not come remotely close to fucked-up. The things I’ve thought to do to you make even me shudder. I’ve got whips, chains, toys, handcuffs, so many little things that’d make you cry…”

"Lovely, yes, got it. Are you gonna leave me here or are you gonna do something worthwhile?" the Doctor asks briskly. 

"I considered it." Missy gives him another one of those vaguely frightening, catty smiles, dips her hand between his legs, and strokes her fingers across the fabric of his pants. Blood rushes and pleasure crawls beneath his skin, making him gasp as she works her fingers.

"That’ll do," he chokes out.

"And I haven’t even started." She leans forward and catches his lips with hers. He struggles against the silk ties she’d snatched from the TARDIS wardrobe to tie him down, wishing to bury his fingers in her hair, and he can nearly feel the satisfaction on her tongue when she shoves it into his mouth, squeezing his hardening cock in her hand.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Beg for it."

"You’re gonna lose."

"When do I ever lose?" Missy snapped. 

"When you’re playing against me." The Doctor grinned darkly, cupping her face in his hand. "We’re more than matched. Two sides of the same coin, yeah, but I’m heads and you’re tails."

"So disappointed you didn’t go for an innuendo in there."

"Grow the hell up. You’ve had enough years for that." And he crushed his mouth to hers. 

It wasn’t often where he switched their roles and he became pain where she was pleasure. He was rough and biting against her mouth and she responded in kind, throwing her arms around her neck and moaning into his mouth as he fisted a hand into her hair. 

Her back was pressed against his TARDIS console and it annoyed her to think it should be the other way around. She had to get her licks on him somehow, she thought, and hooked her leg around his waist, forcing his hips into hers. 

He broke away from the kiss to release a guttural groan. “Don’t — don’t do that.”

"What,  _this_?” Missy purposefully grinded against him and he hissed, dropping his head into her neck as he canted himself back into her. 

"You’re making me lose track," he said, voice muffled by her skin. "It’s not fair."

"Who says you get to make all the rules?" 

"Me." He snatched the hem of her skirt and rucked it up enough to reach beneath it. "And I would advise you to follow them, Mistress."

"You’re in for severe disappointment if — " She cut herself off when she gasped at his shoving her knickers aside, his twisting her clit between his fingers. "— if you think for a goddamn second — "

"Ah, shut up," he growled, pushing a finger inside her. "I want you to beg for it this time."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You’ve turned into such a delightful woman, I’ve got to admit."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twelve/Missy. Meeting at a masquerade ball (or something to do with one wearing a ridiculous disguise but that's not really AU as that happens)

"I think you should take off that silly mask so I can kiss you properly."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Forward, aren’t you?”

"I didn’t  _want_ to come here, you know,” she (he doesn’t know her name yet) pouts, “and I’ve gotten bored. You should kiss me so I’ve made the night a little worthwhile and I can leave.” _  
_

"I’ve only known you an hour. And I don’t even actually know you."

"It’s just a little brush of lips, darling. It’s not but a second of your time." She traces a finger along his jawline and it makes him swallow. Something crosses his mind for a split-second, that he doesn’t really care to know who she is. 

"You could kiss someone else," he suggests. He doesn’t want her to. 

"But that would take too long!" she pouts. "I’d have to go dance with someone who can’t even keep up with me."

"I can keep up with you, then." He notices a curled strand of hair has come loose from the bun atop her head and he tucks it behind her ear. 

"And you’d better take that as a compliment."

"Should I?"

"Kiss me," she demands.

"… only for a moment."

She smiles in triumph and throws her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his. 

Or, should he says, crushes. She kisses him as though she wants to drown herself in him, like when he spotted her sipping copious amounts of wine earlier and she wanted to drown then, too. He stumbles back and nearly falls into one of the dancers from her given force, gripping her waist for something to hold onto. 

Her tongue shoves past his lips and he gives a very muffled gasp, shuddering as she drops her hands to rake her nails down his back. She’s biting, rough, needy and this is highly inappropriate for a public view and oh God he’s getting turned on —

She pulls away and he immediately notices she’s undone the strings of his mask. She grins again, brushing her thumb over his cheek as he tries to catch his breath again. 

"I’m not disappointed at all," she murmurs. "You’ve lived quite the life, haven’t you? All broken-in, silver-haired, mature… What’s your name?"

"I — "

"Tell me your name."

"… Doctor. I’m the Doctor."

She kisses him chastely. “Missy,” she whispers, “short for Mistress.”

And that’s when she turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving him stricken with confusion and a distinct feeling of something missing. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: twissy, stuck somewhere and being mistaken as a couple perhaps? is that au enough? lol

"Did anyone  _ever_ tell you how sweet you look together?” 

The Doctor blinked in surprise, casting a glance at Missy, who looked delighted. “What’re you talking about?” he said

The woman who stood behind the counter at the little bakery laughed. “What do you think? You and her! I hope you don’t mind me asking — “

"I do, actually —" the Doctor began, but Missy cut him off. 

"Don’t mind the lad; he’s always so grumpy when I drag him out in public. He likes to bide his time indoors. Lives in a bit of a box in his head, really." She batted her eyelashes at him. He glared. 

"Are you two married?" the woman asked, looking excited. "Or, perhaps, will you be? Because, in my opinion, he doesn’t look like he has many more years to wait."

Missy laughed and the Doctor looked outraged. “Just got engaged,” the Time Lady said breezily. “Unofficially, though. Don’t have the rings, but he’s such a procrastinator.” She rolled her eyes. “And we still haven’t set a date!”

"Here, I’ll set a date: on the twentieth of never," the Doctor hissed, but she reached discreetly behind him and pinched his bum to make him shut up. 

"Is he the romantic type? Rushing into things before working out the details?" the woman asked. 

"Oh, dear God, isn’t he ever," replied Missy, heaving a dramatic sigh. "So unfortunate that I’ve got him, but, someone has to keep him in line. Wouldn’t you agree, honey?"

"What — no! I don’t agree with any of this!" the Doctor snapped. "I don’t even know what you’re going on about — !"

"Sweetheart, did you forget your pills today?" Missy took him gently by his coat lapels and gave him a meaningful look. "Should we get home now? I know you’ve been very stressed with work lately."

"She has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about!" the Doctor protested to the counter-lady, who looked quite amused. "She’s having all these delusions — just because we kissed once or twice — "

"No, no, we both know it was much more than that, my dear," Missy says firmly. "Come now, or we’ll miss our lunch date."

“ _We didn’t plan a goddamn_  — “

"Goodbye, thank you for the scones! He’ll enjoy them, I’m sure!" Missy called to the counter-lady, who chuckled and waved after them as Missy dragged the Doctor out of the store with a fierce grip on his hand, ignoring his complaints. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I can’t imagine being alone anymore." - Twelve/Missy :)

Her hair is soft and still maintains its curliness even when she has it unpinned. He strokes his fingers through it and she purrs in contentment, sounding like the kitten he thinks of her as. 

"If only you could keep your hands on me for every second that passes," she says. "I might be content with the universe for once."

"That’s never gonna happen." He kisses her atop the head. "This is the best you can get, isn’t it?"

"Mmph." She makes a little whiny noise of indignation. "That makes me less happy."

"I’m being realistic."

"We’re the last of our kind, honey. Isn’t unrealistic what we do?"

He gives a noncommittal hum. “You still have to face facts.”

"Well, I don’t want to. It wouldn’t cause you physical pain to let me be a little bit happy sometime. If you  _do_ want physical pain, however…” She traces a fingernail down his chest. “I’m here in the market.”

"You’re overstocked," he scoffs. 

She giggles. “But you’re my best customer, Doctor! On some nights, I even run out.”

"Shut it."

"It’s truuuue," she sings softly. "You let me use  _all_ my playthings. Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains — “

"You finish that bloody sentence and I’ll burn your best hat."

She gasps, lifting her head from where it rests on his chest to stare at him in horror. “You wouldn’t!”

"I would. Don’t test me, lass."

"Oh, spare me the Earth-isms," she groans, laying her head back down and nuzzling into him so her voice becomes muffled. He feels a smile tug at his lips. "You  _sound_ Scottish but you don’t have to  _act_ the part.”

"Well, says you! It’s like you copied off me!" 

"I switch between British and Scottish! You don’t even have the decency to mix it up! It just goes to show that you’re always going to be so much more boring than me."

He sniffs in annoyance. “Just because I didn’t eat people alive at some point, it doesn’t make me bori— “

"We made a point to forget about that," she snaps, glancing up at him again once more to flick him in the nose. He wrinkles it as his brow furrows. "Anyway, love —"

"Why do you do that?"

"Hm?"

"You call me all those names now. You always called me so many different names, but this is… different."

"Ohhh. That." She shifts a bit so she can nuzzle into his neck this time. It fills his chest with an odd warmth he can’t describe, but, even so, he just buries his hand in her hair because he can’t play with it at this angle and tightens his arm around her waist. "Why shouldn’t I?"

"You haven’t done it before." 

"Well, you’re mine now. You love me the most out of any other time you’ve seen me, so I’m allowed."

"That’s not true."

"Pish-posh, yes it is. You’re the loneliest of all now and it makes you want someone so badly, it tears through your hearts. Guess who got to be your lucky girl?"

He’s quiet for a moment, before he murmurs, “I can’t imagine being alone anymore. With you here.”

The response she gives him - a kiss to his neck and a whisper of Gallifreyan into his ear; something that roughly translates as “I’m always going to be here” — is something that makes him hurt in a way he never wants to let go of. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "What would I do without you?" - Twelve/Missy :)))

"You could help instead of trying to be so — "

"What? Adorable? Entertaining? Endearing?" 

The Doctor yanked his goggles off and glared at her. “ _Annoying._ ”

Missy grinned and leaned on the railing of the steps. “You’re not doing anything fun, you know. You don’t have to play around with this piece of tired junk all the time! Play with me instead!”

"Hand me the wire cutters," he snapped, replacing the goggles and looking back up at the mess of wires under the console that he was, truthfully, not improving. Which was entirely by choice. 

"I’ll get my hands dirty."

"Boo-bloody-hoo. You’re not being useful any other way."

"I could get my hands dirty in the most  _delightful_ way and be very useful.” Missy walked down the steps and over to him, her heels clicking on the floor. “But you’re too busy for that, aren’t you?” she sighed, sitting down in front of where he was on the swing-seat. 

"What?" he mumbled out through his sonic screwdriver — placed in his mouth for easy access. He took the goggles off, too. They were a little bulky in this position. 

"You know what I’m talking about." She traced circles over his trouser leg with one finger. "We could even do it right under the console. On the swing! I’m not picky, hon."

"Do  _what_?”

"You’re so disappointingly thick," Missy groaned. "Sex is what I’m talking about."

"Ah. Oh. That." The Doctor bit his lip in concentration after removing the sonic from his mouth, choosing a setting that would substitute for the wire cutters. 

"Yes,  _that._ A girl gets restless when she’s not let out, Doctor.”

"And there’s a reason for that."

She pinched him spitefully. He made a sound of indignation, but didn’t look down from his work. “Can’t we go spin the stars around together again? At least for a date? Dinner and dancing and a sweet, glorious lovemaking session while we’re tipsy on champagne. Let’s stray from the past a little.” 

"Nothing’s going to happen until I fuse this and  _this_  together, and then manage to put the library back where it’s supposed to be, along with the second kitchen.”

"You’re doing it all wrong, I hope you know," Missy sniffed.

"How would you know? it’s my damn TARDIS and I know exactly what I’m doing!"

"Let me fix it."

"No!"

"You don’t know what you’re doing and that’s the problem! Give me the screwdriver!" She tried to grab it from his hand and he held it out of her reach. 

"You aren’t going to lay a single finger on her, Mistress."

"Even that’s not going to appease me. Now. Gimme." She held out a hand expectantly. 

"She doesn’t trust you. She won’t let you fix her."

"Well, she doesn’t trust you much more. You’re fucking with her for the sake of it." Missy sighed, stood up, and grasped the wires of the swing-seat so she could situate herself in the Doctor’s lap. He felt himself almost choke on air, staring at her in even fiercer indignation. 

She snatched the screwdriver from him and looked up at the muddled wires. “You’d never get anything done if it wasn’t for me.”

"Um — y-you —" The Doctor swallowed thickly. "I get a hell of a lot more done when you’re not pestering me."

"What else am I supposed to do?" She sounded cross now, genuinely cross. She shifted a bit on top of him to reach for something and the buzz of the sonic screwdriver masked his sharp intake of breath. "It’s pathetic that I’m still supposed to be chasing after you and trying to catch your attention from half a foot away." 

He would’ve said sorry in response and maybe something more eloquent if he wasn’t trying to focus so much on the fact that this position was far too compromising. She was warm and there was so much of her at once in his lap and she was awfully curvy in the dress she wore and why hadn’t he noticed that before? 

"One more, I think — just a — aha!" There was a spark, a flash, another buzz of the sonic, and Missy looked down at him with another one of those smug grins. "Doesn’t trust me, eh?"

Brow furrowed, the Doctor glanced up. “How did you do that?”

"I used the thirty-second setting and you were using the twenty-first. Never trust a man to do a lady’s job."

"… thank you." He finally cracked a smile. "What would I do without you?"

"Apparently, a hell of a lot more." She kissed him on the nose. 

"You missed," the Doctor murmured. 

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not going back to this, you bastard; I made sure I missed  _nothing -_ ”

"Oh, calm down, won’t you? I was talking about the kiss."

Her demeanor changed instantly as she beamed. “Ooh, you’ve finally caught on about that.”

"About what?" His hands slipped from the swing-straps to her hips. Her dress was silky, too. Silky and form-fitting and, really, an all-around lovely piece of clothing. 

"Where kisses are supposed to go."

"Maybe you should teach me."

"I’ve always wanted to," she breathed, cupping a hand around his cheek to bring his lips to hers. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Do you think you could maybe just talk to me? I don’t care about what. I just want to hear the sound of your voice until I fall asleep."

The Doctor heard the door creak open, but he didn’t stir, save for his clutching the sheets in his hand next to his pillow. 

"You should come kiss me goodnight," Missy said quietly, sounding timid, almost. 

He refused to respond. He was fast asleep. Couldn’t she see that?

"Don’t do that. You’re not asleep. Do you think I’m nearly as stupid as you?"

He  _was_ asleep, though. He was so asleep and relaxed that he was practically dead. It was very peaceful and he felt he should try it more often. She should, too. Maybe then she would stop talking to him for once.

Missy gave a dramatic, drawn-out sigh. He heard the floorboards creak slightly as well and thought he should tell the TARDIS to fix them up. 

The Doctor felt the mattress indent and her fingers combing through his hair. It was a much nicer feeling than he would care to admit. “Love, pay attention to me,” she pouted. “You didn’t even talk to me during dinner.”

Being asleep was not going to work. 

"I didn’t feel like talking," he replied. 

"Well, I did." She pulled up the sheets he was wrapped in and snuggled against him. He blinked at her through the darkness. 

She pressed a brief kiss to his lips and grinned at him. “There it is. My goodnight kiss. Only not as deep as I wanted.”

"Life’s full of disappointments."

"Especially you." Missy stroked the pad of her thumb across his cheek. "I can’t sleep again."

"You say this every night." Hesitatingly, the Doctor put his arm around her. She seemed to appreciate it, because a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth again. 

"Because I don’t like to sleep, and then it tricks my head into thinking that I can’t sleep." She kissed his nose this time. She was very, very fond of those kisses in general. (He was, too. Just a bit.)

So he kissed her on the lips this time, so he could give a little back. It was soft and light, but she gratefully accepted it. 

"I don’t sleep much, either," he said when he broke away. She looked the most serene he’d ever seen her and it made something in his hearts twinge. "Haven’t for years."

"There’s another thing we have in common." And she kissed him then. 

She was never, ever soft or light, but this was a pleasant change from how she normally kissed him. It was quite gentle for her. He tightened his grip around her waist and she slid her leg between both of his as she licked at his lips. 

It was a few seconds before they parted this time and he could feel heat crawl under his skin. It nearly made him shiver. “Is there anything else?”

"Oh, honey, what isn’t there?" Missy whispered. Her hand was buried in his hair again. "Our hearts are one. They beat at the same pace. The same kind of blood pumps through our veins…" She dragged the hand in his hair down to his nape, down his back. He did shiver this time, the heat racing. "When we get cut, we bleed out words like  _runaways_ and  _traitors_ and  _a pathetic lack of redamancy.”_

"Stop it." 

"It’s true. At least a little, Doctor. Always has been. I dare you to try and deny it." 

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t confirm it, either. He kissed her. 

She sighed into his mouth and pushed him onto his back. He grabbed a handful of her hair, sucking gently on her tongue. 

The heat turned into fire as she gave a tiny moan. He flipped them so he was on top and she flung her arms around his neck immediately.

The seconds turned into minutes this time, although for half those minutes, his mouth was on the skin of her neck, sucking and nipping and kissing. She made these gorgeous little noises that turned into a sensation and tripped down his spine in a shudder.

His breathing was heavy and so was hers when they broke apart again. When his eyes finally fluttered open, her gaze was trained on him. Through the dark, he could see her dilated pupils. 

He shook his head, pushing her fingers away from where she was running them down the line of buttons on his pajama shirt. “Not that. We’re not —” He bit his lip. “No. Not tonight.”

She looked disappointed, but she didn’t argue with him. “I’m still tired, you know…”

"Try to go to sleep."

"Oh, because  _that’s_ gonna help.” 

He settled back down and pulled her into him again in the sort of cuddling position they were in before. It was  _very_ nice. “Is there any way I could?”

She hummed softly. “Do you think you could, maybe, just talk to me?”

"Talk to you…?"

"I don’t care about what. I just want to hear the sound of your voice until I fall asleep. Well, if I can," she added quickly.  

The remark made him even warmer than the kisses did. He held her close and whispered stories to her in their native tongue; stories of all that happened during his eleventh self’s time in the universe. About a Roman and a girl with flaming hair. A woman who killed him and married him, and his own story with her. About Trenzalore. Lake Silencio. 

He murmured the words until he could hear her breathing even out, her hearts slowing. Although he didn’t sleep himself, it made him content enough to keep her warm in his arms. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I've got a suggestion for your NSFW Twissy muse. Twelve and Missy get trapped somewhere (either because it's not safe outside or because someone decides to lock them in a room until they *ahem* resolved their differences)

He was surprised that she could run so fast in high-heels. River always could, but she admitted to him once that she practiced in it. Missy was on an entirely different level, seeing as this was her first female form (and, he was sure, the only form who had even worn heels). She was almost faster than him. 

She must have missed the closet he spotted out of the corner of his eye, if the loud noise of protest was any indication when he snatched her by the arm and dragged her with him to it. 

He hissed at her to  _"shush"_  and pushed her inside the closet, pulling the door behind him closed as he squeezed inside with her. 

"The TARDIS was too far away," the Doctor panted out. "Most likely, they’re not gonna find us. If you don’t make too much noise."

Missy was trying to catch her breath in between the words of her reply. “You could’ve just let me snap their necks — “ 

"Or I could’ve  _not_ done that.” The Doctor pressed his ear to the door, squinting as he listened hard for approaching footsteps. “You wronged them first.”

"They wouldn’t have missed the damn thing!" 

"Oh, yeah, do you think so? Honestly? Is that why they put it in a glass case with alarms and armed guards protecting it?! When I told you we could go somewhere you wanted, I wasn’t talking about committing theft! And who the hell says you need an ancient knife carved out of marble and inscripted with — "

"Committing theft! Was that supposed to be funny? The best date you ever had was with a box, of which  _you_  committed the theft on!”

"Shut up!" he growled, clapping a hand over her mouth the moment he heard voices at the other end of the corridor. He ignored her squeak of indignation and alarm and hoped desperately that she wouldn’t lick him or sink her teeth into his skin this time. 

To her credit, she didn’t speak or try to shove his hand away while the guards walked past. They voiced their suspicions and theories on where the both of them had ended up as the lot of them walked past the closet. He would’ve snickered if the circumstances had been different.

It took a minute from the guards to exit the corridor and round the second. The Doctor heard Missy’s controlled, muffled breathing matching in time to his own. 

"We’ve got to keep quiet," he said as softly as he could under his breath, "in case they come ‘round again." She nodded and he was more than a bit surprised that she agreed. 

The closet was tiny and would have been in total darkness if it wasn’t from the crack under the door releasing a shred of light. He couldn’t move unless he wanted to shove her into the opposite wall. Her back was pressed against his chest and his hand was still over her mouth, his other around her waist to keep them both steady. It was quite inclosed and made him feel almost uncomfortably warm. 

Missy relaxed into him, though, and kissed his palm. The Doctor’s hand jumped away from her mouth in surprise, and he saw her smirk up at him through the near-blackness. 

His eyes narrowed at her in a silent message of,  _You’d better not make me regret that._

She shook her head ever so slightly, her smirk turning into a grin. She almost startled him when she took ahold of his wrist and brought his hand to her mouth again. She pressed a second kiss to his palm and began trailing her lips up to his fingers to kiss the tips. 

"Stop it," he muttered into her ear. She simply nipped his finger in response, pressing herself back into him, harder this time so that he was practically sandwiched between her and the wall, and he suddenly felt that uncomfortable heat swell as his breath hitched. 

Missy sucked lazily on his finger and there was something in the way she ran the flat of her tongue over it while she did so that forced him to swallow something sticky in his throat. And if she were to say he arched back into her in that moment, she would have been a dreadful, dreadful liar. 

The Doctor pulled his hand from her grip and used it to tilt her head up and turn it towards his so he could look into her eyes. 

Missy’s pupils were dilated and her eyes were dark but sparking. Like miniscule fireworks about to go off. 

Something certainly  _was_  going to be set off, he thought, his gaze half-lidded as it dropped to her lips. Their breath, still quiet but unanimous, mingled together. It made him a little dizzy. 

He leaned forward the extra centimetre to make the sensation go away. 

He found it only grew worse as he kissed her, but he suddenly wanted it. He wanted to be drunk on her and fill his head with her. She turned completely in his arms so the whole of her was flush against him again, and he grasped her waist while he plied her lips open with his tongue.

He was going to lose his breath all over again because of her. Though he felt he’d rather do this instead of running again. God knew she did, too. He heard her give the smallest huff of breath through her nose as they kissed and it sounded so much like _want._

He released her waist to smooth his hands over her hips. She had one of her own, much smaller hands in his hair, the other gripping his nape, nails nearly digging into his skin. The taste of her left an achingly familiar tingle in his mouth and the dizziness was being replaced by a trickle of fire tripping its merry way down his spine. It was cold and burning all at once. 

Missy whimpered softly against his lips and the fire tripped over its last step and fell all the way to its destination, which, apparently, was the pit of the Doctor’s stomach where it was collecting. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her skirt (only _she_ could run in a sodding  _pencil skirt_ ) and brushed against her skin. 

The hand dropped from his hair to between them both and she stroked the front of his trousers. He shuddered and forced down a gasp, breaking the kiss. 

Missy looked like nothing more than a cat who’d knocked a carton of cream from the fridge and got to lap it all up at once. She smiled at him like he was her cream as she worked her hand over him through the fabric of his trousers. He shut his eyes and bit down roughly on his lip, masking any potential giveaway noises. 

He had to one-up her somehow. He pushed her skirt up, shoved her knickers aside, and pressed down hard on her clit. He opened his eyes just in time to see her own widen as she gave a sharp inhale, her motions on him faltering. 

_There_ it was. She dropped her head to the crook of his neck, her breathing becoming more shallow by the second. He smirked this time, working through her folds, finding just the right spot —  _yes_. He heard her quiet, muffled sob when he slid a single finger into her. 

It only seemed to occur to him now that this was the opposite of wise. For Christ’s sake, he was an idiot but it was her fault that this happened. She started it. He wasn’t going to even give her kisses on the cheek from now on if it was going to lead to this. He added a second finger and curled them both on every upstroke. Her hips canted against him and she’d been forced to take a mouthful of his jacket so she wouldn’t cry out. He’d regret it later. 

She let Gallifreyan slip from between her teeth, cursing him and herself. She seemed to have gotten even a dirtier mouth in this incarnation, he’d grown overtime to notice. Truthfully, he really,  _really_ liked it. He ground the heel of his hand against her clit on every stroke, and he could feel her getting closer, closer to toppling over the edge, just another —

And there was a sudden voice near the vicinity of the closet. Missy’s breath stuttered and held as the Doctor pulled his fingers back out of her, apprehension crawling over him instead of heated pleasure. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but it couldn’t have been good. Of  _course_  they had to come back now. 

But the guards didn’t fling the closet door open and get an eyeful of Missy’s upturned skirt and flushed skin or his embarrassingly obvious erection and precum-covered fingers. They passed right by the door and continued on. Either they genuinely couldn’t  _see_ the door or they were thicker than the wood of the aforementioned door. 

"Surely they heard something," he mumbled. 

"No, I would say they didn’t," she said, giggling slightly as she smoothed her skirt down. "Check your pockets, love."

"… screwdriver."

"Perception filter placed on them by yours truly during the struggle earlier, Doctor." She kissed the corner of his mouth. 

"How did you get my screwdriver?" 

"Ah, almost the same methods as I got to  _this._ " She squeezed the bulge in his trousers and he smacked her hand away, flushing down to the tips of his ears. 

"So I didn’t have to shove you in a closet."

"Mmm, no, it wasn’t exactly part of my plans, but I like how it played out."

"Sod off. We’ve got to get the hell out of here."

"ASAP to your patchy box to fix your  _predicament,_ maybe?”

“ _Sod off._ ”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: twissy college!AU?

One of his most commonly used phrases was “Shut up”, but it was quickly becoming replaced by “She’s not my girlfriend”. He didn’t know if he was more disappointed in himself or the person responsible. 

Missy Saxon was  _not_  his girlfriend, though. If she was really his girlfriend, then he might feel affection for her. They would go on dates and give each other sweet, little kisses on the cheek and nuzzle noses and cuddle in either of their dorm rooms or on a sofa in the library. 

They didn’t do any of that. 

(Well, not all the time. Rarely, even. Almost never at all. So it didn’t count.)

They were infatuated with each other. That was all. They had chemistry and lust and were able to sneak around enough to sate one another for another few days every time they felt needy. She was fierce and naughty and a delightful tease and sexy as hell and it was all he needed. 

Although it was an uncomfortable truth that he felt she needed more than he did. 

He remembered the second he felt unsure about where they stood together in a relationship. It was last week, when he was collecting his clothes from where they’d been strewn about the room (she  _really_ needn’t be so enthusiastic every time), and she spoke up. 

"If you manage to do that absolutely  _brilliant_ thing with your tongue next time,” Missy sighed in contentment, “I might even say how much I love you during mid-orgasm.”

"You always say you love me," he muttered. He slipped his shirt on and began buttoning it up. "It’s a funny joke, I admit."

"Except it’s not a joke."

"You always say that, too."

"Your point  _is?_ " 

"So I know it’s not true."

"Yes it is. Of course I love you, darling."

"You don’t. You can’t."

"And whyyyy not?" Missy drawled, clicking her tongue on the ‘t’. "I can love whomever I want and you’re the one I pick. Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you flattered?"

"Why should I be?"

"Because I don’t love anyone else," she told him, as though it was obvious. "I never have. I’ve always wanted you and you’re mine and I love you so shouldn’t you love me, too?" She tilted her head to the side, eyes widening a little in innocence she didn’t have. 

"I wouldn’t be any use to you if you couldn’t play with me in bed," he scoffed, throwing his jacket on. "If I stopped sleeping with you, you’d throw me back to where you found me."

"Where, in bloody physics class? Nah, I wouldn’t go back there if your life depended on it."

"And not yours."

"Yours is more important than mine." 

He gazed at her for a moment, biting the inside of his mouth. “… I’m not more important than anyone.”

"You’ve got eyes and a soul older than gods. What’s not important about that, hon?" Missy rested her chin in her hand as she stared back at him. The way she was looking at him made him feel like he was falling: his stomach dropped and he wanted to ground himself but he couldn’t catch anything to hold himself down. Yet he was still upright and her eyes distilled the feeling of security. "You’ve got the mind of a man who wants to rule the world but feels like his power would corrupt him. Don’t you worry. I could be your queen, you know."

"I don’t need a queen. I don’t even need you, not really."

"Oh, but you do a bit, don’t you?" 

"No."

"You’re so pretty, but you’re a bad liar, love." Missy settled down against the mattress and pulled the sheets over herself, right up to her chin. "I’ll see you tomorrow, when you come looking for me."

He didn’t respond, save for a mumbled “goodnight” before he went out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "That's mine"// "Give it back" - Twissy

“ _I want you to say my name…”_

“ _I will.”_

“ _I want to drag it from your lips, pull it out, and then stuff it back in.” Her fingernails drag over his chest, drawing blood, why is he bleeding, why doesn’t it hurt? “I want to make you swallow it, and then I want to swallow you up, little by little. I’m gonna take your hearts…” She slashes X’s over his chest, over each of his hearts. He offers them to her freely, “crush them to bits, then gobble them down, too. All that loss, all that twisted not-so-goodness, lust and greed for attention and love by thousands, down the hatch.”_

_She touches him and the pleasure bursts behind his eyes. He sees constellations, he sees galaxies, he sees hell, he sees her. She’s white-hot and she burns around him, drowning him in this engulf, he bleeds and bleeds. Her tongue licks the inside of his mouth and she tries to devour him. He touches her and she’s soft and white like blossoms. Blossoms of flowers on a gravestone. She’s death in their creation._

_There’s skin pressed to skin. Ice crawls under his skin in a race with fire. He loves her he hates her he wants her dead she’s all he wants forevermore. She loves him she’s obsessed she wants his body mind and soul she hates him she wants him dead._

“ _I want to take your body,” her voice is heavy in his ear and too loud and he can’t hear her, doesn’t want to, “I want to keep it locked away, I want to scrub it free of anything rotten and despicable that mewls on this planet. I want to do awful, awful, unspeakable things to your body that you’d love.”_

_He wants to be disgusted because she is disgusting. But he loves it. His hands leave prints on her skin and she’s burning around him, burning hot. She’s dripping silk. She moves over him, lips parted as she exhales, moans, gasps, her nails down his nape, his back, cutting, slicing. If he’s going to bleed, he wants it to be by no one’s hands but hers. He wants to cut her in return, but it’s impossible not to have some tiny level of tenderness in his actions, because he has always been the light to her dark. And sometimes he’s the dark that completes her._

_They are one. At hearts and at mind. They bleed together and their blood is mixed and he can’t tell whose is whose. He drags her lips to his and teeth clash and nip._

“ _Do you know something about those hearts of yours, my love? They’re mine. I own them. So you should give them back.” Her voice is harsher and it bites down somewhere in his head. Makes it ache. Makes him ache. He wants her to crash and burn and fall apart over him and he wants to make it happen. “If you become heartless, Doctor –”_

_She has to pause because she cries out and he has to throw his head back against the pillows and groan because he feels so much and it’s too much and it feels so. fucking. good. and she shudders and sobs and it’s over for them both because he bites down hard on his lip and falls apart under her and_

He’s waking up.

The Doctor pants for breath he didn’t know he lost. His bedroom is pitch-black and his bed holds only one lonely passenger aboard the TARDIS. And there’s a minor discomfort because he thinks he feels his pajama trousers sticking to him.

He exhales heavily and scrubs a hand across his face. He can hear, in the back of his mind, what she’d finish that sentence with:

“ _If you become heartless, we’ll finally be the perfect match, and then it won’t hurt so bad that we love each other so much.”_

He swallows thickly and his throat feels sore.

He’s not going to sleep for another few weeks, just to be safe. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I totally need a drunk!Missy and Twelve fanfic now!

When he flung the TARDIS doors open, he surely didn’t expect  _her_ on the other side of them. He might’ve expected Clara, or some other visitor he might’ve forgotten to repay a debt to or something of the sort. 

He really,  _really_  didn’t expected  _her._

"Why,  _Doctor_!” Missy gasped in delight, leaning against the doorway. “Fancy meetin’ you here, huh? I  _missed_ you!” 

Her cheeks were flushed scarlet and her hair didn’t seem quite so meticulously kempt, her lipstick smeared. He felt a strong sense of concern for her before he mentally slapped himself in the face. 

"What are you  _doing_  here?” the Doctor demanded. “You were  _gone._ You were particles converted into a Cyberman and you were meant to be gone for good; how’d you manage — “

"Ah, come off it, hon!" Missy giggled. "You missed me, too!"

"Not for a godforsaken —  _mmph_.” 

She’d snatched the front of his shirt, leaned forward, and dragged his mouth to hers for a deep, invasive kiss, and he would’ve fallen over out of surprise and indignation if she didn’t have such a firm grip on him. 

She didn’t taste like time or stardust or Gallifrey as he would’ve thought, but an unmistakable tang of whiskey. It was sweet and spicy and left itself over his tongue as she shoved her own past his lips. 

She’d went and bloody set herself drunk, hadn’t she? 

He snatched her shoulders and shoved her away from him, trying to catch his breath. “How the hell did you get  _drunk_? Your biology’s supposed to be stronger than that.”

"Wellllll, depends on how much I drink, doesn’it, love?" Missy snickered and started playing with his waistcoat buttons. "And how’d you tell? What, didja become Mister Sherlock Holmes all of a sudden?"

"I could taste it when you kissed me," the Doctor muttered. "Come inside; it’s freezing out."

Missy let herself inside with a spin on her heel, which was idiotic, because she nearly toppled over. “Oh my God, you really  _do_ care about me! You do know how to make a girl feel special!” she exclaimed, making him cringe as he shut the TARDIS doors. Blimey, she was loud. 

"Why don’t you make me feel  _really_ special, love? Show me again what it’s like t’have a good time,” she murmured, the slur in her voice sounding more pronounced as she hugged him from behind and nuzzled against the fabric of his waistcoat. He sighed and pried her arms off. 

"Tell me how you escaped." 

Missy groaned. “But that’s  _dull,_ Thete. I wanna have some fun with you this time, come on!”

"Not until you tell me what happened." 

Rolling her eyes, she stumbled her way over to the console to lean against that instead. She was going to hurt her ridiculous self. 

"You pressed the wrong button, dumbo. There was, um, a thingy… a thing that happened… it was a transport and, well, you fucked up, buttercup." Missy shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. "Can’t get rid’a me too easy, you know."

"Yeah, I never do." The Doctor folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the railing, gaze fixed on her. "And your first instinct was to dull every sense you have."

"Uh-huh." That sloppy grin was on her face again as she walked towards him. "My second instinct was  _you,_ Doctor.”

"Don’t kiss me again."

"Why?"

"You’re drunk."

"So?" 

"I can’t kiss you like that." 

"It’s justa’ little bit," Missy complained, throwing her arms around his neck and pouting at him. He frowned. "S’not gonna make much difference, you know…"

"If I let you kiss me when you’re like this, then you won’t want to stop."  _And I wouldn’t want you to stop, either,_ he thought to himself.

"I wouldn’t, anyway."

"I probably already knew that."

"Don’ be  _difficult_ ,” Missy said, making a noise of disgust. “I want you more than anything right now and I’ll betcha want me, too, huh? You  _missed_ me.”

Truthfully, it would be easy to kiss her right now. Her lips were close to his and parted and her waist was the perfect size to grip. Her body fit along the line of his, her curves fitting into his angles. 

"So what if I did?" he murmured. "Even if I did think about you, do you think I only wanted this from you?"

She blinked in confusion and her nose crinkled. “What?”

"I might kiss you later," he told her, gently unwrapping her arms from his neck. "When you’re not like this."

"Please? M’not  _sooo_ bad off…” Missy nuzzled into his neck this time, giggling again. 

"It’s bad enough."

"You’re never, ever any fun," she said grumpily. 

"I know. You like to tell me that."

"S’true."

"Tell you what. We’ll go somewhere tomorrow, you and me. So long as you cooperate. Don’t cause any trouble."

She didn’t respond. 

"Did you hear me?" He nudged her and she emitted a soft snore. 

She’d fallen asleep. Of course. 

He sighed and carefully pulled the pins from her hair, letting it down so he could comb his fingers through it. He dropped the pins in his pocket. 

"I think I will kiss you later," he whispered. "If I want. I’m quite sure you’ll want to kiss me back."

He pressed his lips to the top of her head and lingered for a moment. 

"That’ll do for now." 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the writing prompt?? i think this would really fit twelve and missy :) - "Well maybe you’re not afraid of me but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?"

It starts abruptly but, in hindsight, unsurprisingly. As well as quickly.

It starts itself off in the library. On a sofa in the library; the silken, emerald-green one with petunias patterned across it. It’s rather tacky but one of the most comfortable ones to sit on.

(Noted afterward: it feels even more comfortable on naked skin.)

The Doctor’s bored and he can’t tinker with the TARDIS anymore that night or she’ll get upset and swap the rooms around again, so he reads. He hasn’t gotten this opportunity for quite some time and he’s picked out one of his favourites, which ends up being  _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._ He takes the book, several biscuits, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses and he relaxes on the petunia-printed sofa, feeling quite as ease with the world. The universe. Whichever works. 

And the complacency cracks when he feels a tug on his ear and then there’s  _her_ voice: “Reading again? Will wonders never cease? Love, let’s play instead.”

He flips a page. “I don’t want to play any games with you.”

"Oh, go dance another few rounds, you little liar," Missy sighs. She strolls from behind the sofa to face his front. The Doctor sniffs and pushes his glasses back upon his nose. 

She makes a little ‘hmph’ of annoyance, and, all of a sudden, she climbs onto his lap and straddles him. 

He nearly drops the book, making a tiny, strangled sound in the back of his throat as he looks up and stares at her. 

"There we go." Missy presses a kiss to his nose and grins, taking the book from his hands and dropping it on the cushion next to them. "Do I have your attention, sir?"

While the Doctor’s mind sticks fast and it tries to flit around for a response, she wrinkles her nose. “‘Sir’. Oh, good gracious, no. You don’t deserve that rubbish title.” She traces a finger along his jawline, her nail running over his skin, and the sensation travels down his spine. “I’d rather like to call you ‘pet’ or something like that. Something to make you shiver a little. Something that makes  _me_ shiver.”

Missy leans forward and brushes her lips over his neck. The Doctor swallows thickly. 

"You’d like to think I would," he says. He  _really_ wishes she would get off him because this is making him feel warm in all the wrong places and he doesn’t appreciate her causing it. “I’m not your pet.”

"What are you, then?" she breathes. Her tongue glides from the middle of his neck to his ear and he shifts a little under her because that heat is really very not preferable. 

"Your friend," he replies. 

"That’s true," she says, voice rising to a normal level as she leans back and faces him. She looks a little grumpy now. "I’m your friend, Doctor, yes."

He quirks an eyebrow. “And…?” Because he has a feeling there’s an ‘and’. 

"And that’s boring," she sings softly. Her fingers dance over the buttons on his shirt. His eyes follow each of her motions. "I don’t want to be just your friend. I want to break you up, slice you apart…" Her words are a drawl. "… snip your fingers off, crack your mind, snap your neck, rip your skin, split your organs — "

He hates himself because he wants her to keep talking and the words make him warmer. “Empty threats aren’t going to make me afraid of you.”

She shrugs. “Well, maybe you’re  _not_  afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?”

"No." The Doctor says it too quickly and he’s not sure why he does, but, in any case, it make Missy smile in her cat-who-got-the-cream mannerism, especially when he licks his lips in apprehension. 

"Oh, no, don’t even  _try_ to lie, Doctor.” Missy’s palms slide up his chest and rest on his hearts. She can tell they’re beating irregularly. He can tell. They’re beating in his ears. “What does everyone do in those moments where it’s far too late in the night when they’re too tired to sleep? When they’re in the shower and they can’t bring themselves to get out? What do people do?”

"People think," he mutters. 

"That’s right." Her hands move from his chest, past his shoulders, winding up in his hair. Her fingers clench and his breath stutters for a moment. "What do they think about?"

"It depends on the person."

"I’m sure it does. But, for most people, isn’t there someone they focus on? In everyone’s hearts, they want what makes the heart beat harder. That’s what they think about."

"Do you think…" The Doctor closes his eyes for a moment because that heat is rising and it feels heavy and liquified in his stomach. "… do you think I think about you?"

"I don’t think. I don’t know. But I want to believe it. I think about you, honey." Her voice is barely a whisper but it sounds too loud with the beating of his hearts and he can hear hers, too. "When there’s too much in my head, too much to think about after the drums left, you fill me up."

"How," he asks, but it comes out like a growl. 

"I think of your fingers, Doctor. I think of those hands, those hands that have touched the blood of millions. Those hands, so wicked and powerful, on this body." 

"Do you?" Those hands are on her waist and he doesn’t know how they got there. They’re gripping it and the heat is starting to burn. 

Missy’s grin is languid and her eyes aren’t icy, but darkened to the point where he can barely see the colour. “Oh,  _yes_. Those itty-bitty thoughts of you turn so  _naughty_ and I don’t even mean to do it half the time. I picture those fingers of yours on every inch of these curves, Doctor. I wind you up, don’t I? You always had a bit of a thing for the girls, didn’t you?”

He licks his lips. “Some more than others.” 

She laughs. “And wasn’t I lucky?”

He shakes his head. “No.” His thumbs brush the waistband of her skirt. “You just came along before I saw someone better. In a… physical way, I mean.”

"Don’t say things like that. It’ll make me upset."

"We wouldn’t want that, would we?"

"Would we, what?"

"… would we, Mistress?"

"That’s what I need to hear, Thete," and the use of her name for him shocks him enough so that her kiss doesn’t. It probably wouldn’t have, anyway.                                

* * *

 

What starts is the inevitable. He memorises how she tastes and feels and looks in this incarnation and it hurts because he was so easy. And he  _likes_ her. 

Not in the twisted, broken, skin-crawling way they’ve always loved each other. Love doesn’t factor in. He really,  _really_  likes her. He likes to hear the sound of her voice — he doesn’t care about the words — and he likes her ruby nails on his skin and he likes the skirts she wears. He’s fond of all that. Which is something he thinks he can deal with. 

It’s awkward the first time — the first  _real_ time, when they’re not on a sofa printed with petunias and they’re on a mattress in her bedroom and the sheets are purple and printed with moonflowers instead. It’s awkward because he feels, at least twice, some pang in his hearts when she gazes up at him, breathless and speechless, and the pang isn’t out of sadness or anger or disgust. It’s heavy and light all at once and he doesn’t know what to do or think because he knows he likes her too much right now. 

So he has to shut his eyes and kiss her, and she moans theatrically into his mouth as he slips his hand between her legs. 

When they’re through, he doesn’t want to talk to her and she must sense that because, for once, she doesn’t try to have the last word. She curls into his side and she falls asleep; most likely for the first time in years, he thinks. 

After that, the last fragments of her shame are done away with and she has no qualms about pushing him into a chair or against a wall or a countertop or a bookcase and shoving her hand down his pants, any time she likes. He doesn’t mind because why would he? 

He likes her because it’s mindless. He doesn’t have to think and then his head isn’t so loud, like she’d said before. He can kiss her on the cheek and flirt with her and stare at her arse in certain skirts she wears because he doesn’t have to give a fuck. 

It scares him beyond death to think she probably does. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twissy, put the knife down. GO.

He should’ve expected this. After his turning down the army, after Christmas, after all he did to make her feel insignificant and pathetic and worthy of disgust and scorn — well, she  _was_ , but his point is, he should have anticipated her retribution. 

But not exactly like this. Tied to a chair in his console room with her sitting on his lap, TARDIS doors locked, Clara off somewhere unknown. He has a crawling sensation that he doesn’t  _want_ to know. 

"I could kill you," Missy muses, running her thumb over his lips. Her nail is sharp enough to cut them if she jabbed it the right way. "I want to. I always want to."

"Your dirty talk just gets more attractive every second," the Doctor spits out at her.

"I know. You  _love_ it,” she hisses, her other hand tangling itself in his hair and pulling hard. He makes a choked sound in the make of his throat because it spikes through him in a pleasurepain he absolutely hates. “I know what turns you on, Thete. You like what hurts.”

"I thought you wanted to kill me." He huffs a laugh. "Want to kill me and make love to me at the same time. You never change."

"Make love to you?" She gives this high-pitched, mad giggle that makes him cringe. "Never that, dear. Nah, not nearly. I want to fuck you. I want to kiss you and rip your clothes off and suck and bite your skin until it’s red and purple. I want to take you in and make you come so hard your head swims and constellations burn across your eyes. I don’t wanna love you."

She is so disgusting. He wants to get out of the chair now. “Guess you didn’t win on that one, either.”

Her eyes widen, then narrow as she pulls something from her pocket and holds it against his neck. It’s sharp and cold and apprehension rolls down his spine. 

"Put the knife down," he tells her, low but sharp. 

"No, I think not." She presses it harder against him and he swallows, closing his eyes. He hates her and this  _is_  disgusting and he hates this and he feels sick (and he loves it and he wonders how much he’d like being slowly tortured by her and he thinks he’d like it a  _lot_ and he thinks she knows). “I told you, Doctor. You. Like. To.  _Hurt_.”

"Is that what you think?" he mutters, eyes flickering open to catch her gaze. She’s vile and horrific and ghastly because her pupils are dilated and he’s sure if their clothes were gone like she wants them to be (and he wants them to be) then he’d feel her burning and slick against him. 

"It’s what I know." She slowly drags the blade down his neck, cutting just deep enough to lead a thin line down to the collar of his shirt and it stings, yes, it stings badly but if he could properly see his reflection in her eyes, he could see his own blown pupils. "Everyone has that teensy-weensy little kink of theirs they keep to themselves. For me, it’s probably breathplay."

He has to lick his dry lips, but he doesn’t speak. 

"You know what I love about it? It’s the most intense powerplay a girl could ask for," she breathes, twisting the knife but not digging in. "It’s death hiding in animalistic tendencies. My favourite. And those hands of yours are so big and mature and could definitely handle the job — oh, but you are a little tied up at the moment, eh?"

"That’s not funny."

"It’s a little funny."

"You’re repulsive, you know."

"Oh, of course I am." She rolls her eyes. "Which is why you now have an erection tall enough to ride some of the scarier rides at Great America without a parent." 

Shit. “The Time-Traveler’s Wife. That’s rich.” 

"Can’t beat the classics," she says, smiling as she pokes the knife a little harder against his neck and his breath stutters and dies for a moment. "Now, back on the subject. You obviously want to fuck me, don’t you? Go on. Say it. I want to hear it."

"That’s too bad for you."

"Oh my God," Missy groans, rolling her eyes. "Doctor, what is it gonna have to take? Will I have to shove my hand down your pants and palm your cock until you spill all over my hands before you admit you’re the  _tiniest_ bit attracted to me?”

"Sexual pleasure doesn’t have anything to do with attraction." And he still wouldn’t mind her fulfilling that threat. 

"Yeah, yeah, mm-hm." Missy finally returns the knife to her pocket. Perhaps she’s gotten bored with it. "But there’s no use denying you are, either. Attracted to me, I mean. You’ve got a thing for the girls, don’t you? All curves and nasty smirks and lipstick and hair long enough to yank and pull and grab?"

"I don’t — "

"You’re so stupid; yes, you bloody do. I know you do. Why won’t you admit it?"

"Why do you think you’re right?"

She snickers and shifts a little so she can, apparently, make good on that threat, and heat and ice rush all at once in his blood and he makes an awful, strangled sound. “I’m always right, dummy.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The only reason I chained you up is to show you how much I love you!" ~_^ (Also: one of my gals over at the Twissy network said it was way too sad and I agree. I'm sorry about throwaway angst.)

Memories are rubbish things. The ones you like are never clear enough, and the ones you hate are stuck with you forever. 

Missy’s like one huge, bad memory in humanoid form. The Doctor might joke about it, but, truly, she’s the reason why he drinks. Or has started to. And Irish whiskey has quickly become one of his dearest friends. Vodka is a little too strong, though. 

She likes red wine the best. She can’t stand white and he asked her why.

_"It’s not sweet or dark enough. Red’s a prettier colour."_

_"Why?"_

_"It’s more realistic."_

He has conversations like that with her before she goes to bed or he does or they both do. It’s counterproductive, because he wants to get rid of her so badly, but he can’t stop enjoying her physicality. And he’s  _tried._

Once, because he wanted to get rid of her so much it clawed at his insides, he dropped something special in her drink and left her in the library, figure limp across the sofa and dregs of her wine spilled over the carpet below. He went to bed alone for once, but he tossed and turned and it yanked and tore at him even further. 

He could only sleep when he exhausted himself with his own fingers, imitating her touch. It made him feel even worse, but at least he was tired enough afterwards to sleep.

Meals are always awkward. He’ll drop the plates on the table, push one towards her, and pick at whatever he made for twenty minutes or so. 

_"We didn’t go out today."_

_"I know."_

_"You promised."_

_"I said ‘soon’."_

_"I’ve waited long enough, dear."_

_"You don’t deserve to make commands or have them filled out."_

_"Says who?"_

_"Says the one who allowed you to live."_

_"I’m not living."_

_"You’re surviving, yes. Which is more than you deserve."_

That leads to conversations fitting into the bad memories category. She’ll go find him in the console room where he messes about with the console and pretends he’s busy and knows what he’s doing. 

_"You know I love you…"_

_"No, you don’t. Not the right way."_

_"But I_ do  _love you. That’s enough, isn’t it? Yeah? Even if it’s not the way your selfish arse wants, it’s love and you should be grateful. You should be lucky.”_

_"Why? Lucky that you’re obsessing over my hearts and my mind and my cock?"_

_"Don’t be crude, hon. It_ is  _love. You’re always so mean to me, and you_ are  _lucky I love you. If I didn’t, I’d want to kill you.”_

_"Don’t you already?"_

_"No, not so much anymore. It’d be boring now. Why don’t you love me back, though? I love you so much that I forgive you for everything you do."_

_"You’ve got the blood of millions on your hands and I’ve forgiven you enough to allow you to stay aboard my ship. Be grateful for that."_

_"You’ve got the blood of thousands, including my own."_

_"… and?"_

_"And the fact you don’t appreciate my love now makes me feel awfully sad…"_

_"Go be sad somewhere else."_

_"Fine."_

And then she seemingly forgets she’s feeling sad a few hours later because she’ll climb into his lap, press a hot, damp, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and whisper that she missed him that day.

_"You’ve — ah — seen me all day," he says, eyes fluttering closed as she kisses down the length of his neck, undoing his shirt buttons with every press of her lips._

_"Not the way I like," she murmurs, flicking open the button of his trousers. "All flushed skin, forgetting who you are. That’s the way I like you."_

_She kisses him full on the lips and pushes her fingers past the waistband of his pants, and he grips a handful of her hair as he gets drunker and drunker on her by the second._

Sometimes he has to try even harder to distract himself. So he indulges in playtime.

_He mocks her tone of voice, ”The only reason I chained you up is to show you how much I love you! Isn’t that what you always say? I love you, I love you, I love you! And it makes everything all better, yeah?”_

_"But you don’t love me, so it doesn’t count." She sounds terse and taut and he has a horrible suspicion that she’s close to crying._

_"But you liked it, didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough."_

She didn’t talk to him for hours and he couldn’t stop looking at the bruises on her cheek and neck. 

He does feel sad, now that he thinks about it. 

She disappoints him, because, oh, how the mighty fall.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fake relationship!AU.

"I don’t like taking that name," the Doctor muttered. 

"Well, you never bothered to come up with anything  _interesting_ ,” said Missy, rolling her eyes. “Honestly,  _John Smith_? Such a good thing you’re not an evil genius — “

" — or a psychotic Mary Poppins — " 

" — or you wouldn’t last a day."

"Well, the perks about not becoming an evil genius is that I have never turned into a snake and slithered down someone’s throat so I could possess them."

Missy waved a dismissive hand. “The past is in the past. I did what I had to.”

"There’s no denying it was a bit — um — "

"Fucked up?"

"That, yeah. And watch your language; you’re supposed to be my friendly, doting wife, remember?" the Doctor said dryly. 

"And you’re supposed to be my loving husband," Missy pouted, lacing her fingers through his. "Be nice to me, honey."

"If I wasn’t being nice to you right now, I’d have you tied up in a secret room on my ship."

"Mmm, I love it when you talk all kinky."

"We’re in the mid-twentieth century," the Doctor told her, quietly but firmly. "You’ll cause the death of a poor little housewife that might hear us,  _dear._ ”

"So be it. If anyone else tries to share knitting patterns or recipes with me again, I’ll tell them exactly where they can shove their goddamn — "

"Excuse me, Dr. Saxon?"

Both the Doctor and Missy turned and he only noticed now that she had such a firm grip on his hand. He couldn’t decide if it unnerved him or he didn’t completely hate the feeling. 

"Your application went through, and we look forward to having you." The one speaking was a young man who looked breathless and eager. Most likely, he’d been trying to catch up with them before they walked off the school’s property. "Your references were impressive. Four degrees?" 

"Oh, more than that," the Doctor scoffed. 

"How many of them did you make up?" Missy said behind her silk-gloved hand. 

"How jealous are you that you never had the patience?" he answered out of the corner of her mouth. 

"More than that?" The young man blinked in surprise. "How many years were you in school?"

"More years than you’ve been alive, most likely," the Doctor told him.

"You look it, Thete," Missy mumbled, and the Doctor gave her hand a rough squeeze. 

"… oh. Alright." The man rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away for a moment. "If I may ask, who’s this?" he said, nodding towards Missy. 

"My wife, Melissa," the Doctor spoke up before Missy did, and her mouth dropped open in indignation. He couldn’t help but smirk.

"Oh, of course. Morning, ma’am." The man smiled at her. "I can only imagine you’re lucky to have someone with so much under his belt already."

"Ugh." Missy pulled a face. "If you want my honest opinion, Bambi, the only thing under his belt I’m interested in are the naughty bits because, frankly, the day I’m lucky to have him around is the day I take my umbrella and impale myself upon it." 

"She’s got a headache today!" the Doctor said immediately in response to the young man’s state of shock. "She’s been feeling ill for a week now. We really should be getting home." 

"Home to  _where_?” Missy snorted. “Your  _box_? That hotel room in the city? Your insecurities, self-loathing, and sexual frustration over me wearing maxi skirts and push-up bras?”

"Hush, love; you don’t want to upset your head, do you?" the Doctor told her, but it came out more like a snarl and he couldn’t blame the poor boy in front of them for looking scandalised. "We’ve got to leave, Bambi. I’ll be there in class tomorrow if I even want to get out of bed." 

・‥…━━━★ﾟ+.・‥…━━━★ﾟ+.・‥…━━━★ﾟ

"Oh, Doctor, calm  _down_ ,” Missy told him as she kicked off her pointed heels and flopped back on the mattress. “We’re gonna be here a  _month_ , darling. Why are you worried about making an impression? Like you ever try to fit in anyway.”

"I don’t want you to mentally scar everyone in this town or make me regenerate out of bloody embarrassment," the Doctor said tautly, looking at his fingers unknotting his tie instead of her. 

"You embarrass yourself whenever you open that stupid mouth." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger and gazed at the ceiling. "Doctor, can you come over here so I can kiss your stupid mouth?"

"We’re pretending to be married. That doesn’t allow you the privileges of it."

"Then let’s pretend we’re in the most compromising situation possible that would allow me to gloriously fuck that twig you call a body into the mattress."  

"I couldn’t possibly think of a single situation that would require that." He shrugged his jacket off and dropped it on the carpet. "We’re not going to have sex, Missy."

"Could I persuade you?"

"With what, the promise of more sex?"

"I’ll promise not to cause any trouble while we’re staying here."

The Doctor paused in undoing the buttons on his waistcoat and bit his lip. “… you’ll buy yourself some restraint? No more terrorising people’s state of mind?”

"Mm-hm." Missy grinned at him. "Only takes one round, love, then I’ll do anything you say — for once, which is really why you should take up this offer."

The Doctor weighed his options. 

Or his lack of them, really. 

                                     ―☆　*’“*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･♡♪+*.

He liked it. It was bloody well worth a month free of the Mistress’ particular brand of trouble (which could range from stealing candy or committing mass murder). He forgot how nice it was, his memory having faded from somewhat from River and other past lovers. 

Missy was all sharp angles crossing with curves, teeth and nails both biting. He discovered her hair was remarkably long and nice to bury his fingers in. She was theatrical and loud and he learned quickly the right spots that made her whimper.

The sensations melted his insides down and made a cold sort of heat crawl under his skin. When he toppled over the edge of the universe with her, her mind connected with his, and that extra burst of colour through his system was what he liked to call bliss. 

                                    ―☆　*’“*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･♡♪+*.

"I think you said you loved me," she whispered. 

He pretended he was already fast asleep.

                                    ―☆　*’“*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･♡♪+*.

He woke up before her the next morning. He got dressed quietly and noted that she looked far softer when she slept before he left the little hotel room. 

They’d been stuck here for three days. Stuck in this little town near Glasgow in 1952. They’d found a hotel and he found a job and it caused less of a hassle to pretend they were a couple. The incident with the young man at the school yesterday wasn’t the first time she’d ruined conversations.

The TARDIS had stuck him and Missy here and had refused to reopen. More than likely, the Old Girl was sick of the fighting and was going to let it die down while she stayed shut and it was estimated to be a month’s time.

The Doctor gave a small huff of amusement as he knotted a scarf around his neck (he’d forgotten that Glasgow was cold this time of year). The only time he and Missy hadn’t been fighting was when they were in between the sheets. 

Well, fine. Maybe his ship would let them aboard again if he promised to screw his nemesis for a few hours every night. What the hell could go wrong?

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

The days flew by like a moth with a broken wing: crooked and slowly, but they looked pretty enough. 

They got drunk twice and went out to dinner maybe three, four times. She made him go shopping with her once and they got kicked out because she pushed him against the wall of a dressing room and shoved her hand down his trousers. They got arrested, actually. It might have been the highlight of their time. 

Other than that little mess, it was routine to say  _"This is my wife, Melissa"_ or  _"Yes, honey"_ or  _"Thank you, dear."_ _  
_

He didn’t mind. She didn’t, either. And she’d kept her word on not spinning them into chaos. 

The TARDIS reopened three-and-a-half weeks later. He spun her into the console room with one of the dance positions they practiced once (it was late at night when there was simply nothing left to do in the tiny hotel room and he was less graceful than he’d dare admit), and she laughed the nice sort of laugh that sounded less like a broken violin and more like sleighbells. 

"I think you should tell me you love me," the Doctor murmured, stroking his thumb over Missy’s cheek. 

"Why?" 

"I put up with you for a month."

"Well, I did the same."

"You liked it."

"So did you."

"So what?"

"So you should tell me you love me, too."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn’t you?"

He kissed her to shut her up. 

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

A few months later, Clara asked him why he looked at Missy the way he did, and the Doctor shrugged. 

"She’s my wife."


End file.
